


Truth Is Implied

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex, dares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2010-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 07:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Emily is Evil, Garcia is a Goddess...and Dave might just be in over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Is Implied

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the CM Kink Meme prompt of: _A series of increasingly kinky dares between the two. He dares her to go without underwear at work one day ( & she has to prove it somehow, flashing him in the hall, etc) and then she dares him to use her panties as a pocket handkerchief at a meeting with Strauss, etc, etc. _
> 
> Go as far as you like, but bonus points if Garcia finds out about it and that's what earns her the "kitten" nickname Rossi gives her. ;)
> 
> Thank you to for holding my hand every step of the way. 9000 words.

"Open," Emily barks, and Dave obediently tips his head back and drops his jaw.

The popcorn bounces off his cheekbone.

"Damn it," she mutters. Dave snorts and then flicks the piece of corn off of the lid of the umpteenth box of files they've gone through. She's pretty sure they passed midnight about three days ago, and at this point chewing her way through the cold bag of yesterday's popcorn is keeping her awake far more effectively than the sludge the station calls coffee.

"Sudden downdraft," Dave reassures her solemnly. His lips curl up the slightest amount on the right, even though he never looks away from the paper in his hands. That little smile hits her as warmly as a soft blanket, and suddenly she's so tired she thinks she might start crying if she can't curl up right here, on the floor, right now. But then Dave flips the cover shut and slips the file into the current box of 'not it' they're filling, and somehow she finds the strength to pull her gaze away from his face and back to what she's supposed to be doing.

She tosses a couple more kernels into her mouth, sucking on the salt and artificial butter before she bites down. They squeak between her teeth, stale and chewy. It's just like being back in college, pulling an all-nighter.

"Aw, damn it," she swears again, louder this time. A big hunk of shell has lodged between her back two molars on the right, and no matter how she works at it with her tongue, it's not budging. There's nothing for it but to get her nail in there and work it out.

She's reaching for the alcohol gel in her purse when Dave snorts. Emily looks up, and sure enough, he's watching her, smile almost at full now. She sighs. "Yeah, yeah. Not the most lady-like thing you've ever seen."

He shrugs. "Doesn't bother me. I just didn't expect it from you, considering your background."

"Let's just say a lot of things stuck from my rebellious phase." She shakes her head. "Believe me, this is far from the most inappropriate thing I've ever done at work."

"Oh, really?" He arches an eyebrow at her. His eyes are bloodshot, bags hanging out underneath both, and for a moment she thinks she can actually feel how tired he is. Then she remembers oh, yeah, that's just her. "What kind of inappropriate are we talking, here?"

"God, I don't know," she says, because her memory's failing her and she is **not** telling him about the time she and her roommate photocopied their asses the last week of her job in the Registrar's office. But it's late and she's talking to the guy who probably got half of the fraternization policies instituted at the FBI, and her pride doesn't want to leave it at that. So she reaches for something she's pretty sure she's done, even if she can't call to mind a specific instance. "Wore a short skirt and no underwear. That kind of thing."

Dave chuckles. "I'm not sure I'd call that inappropriate, but it's definitely interesting."

For some reason, she blushes. "Yeah, well, my mother would have a fit if she ever found out."

"I'm not your mother," he says, husky-voiced, and Emily has to look back down at her file before she blushes again.

*****

She's staring out the plane window at the grid patterns sketched out by stretch after stretch of city lights, not really sure whether she's asleep or awake, when her Blackberry skitters across the table in front of her. She scoops it up as fast as she can, then glances around to see if the noise disturbed anyone. Reid is buried in a book, the absence of his finger on the page telling her he's reading for enjoyment, not speed, and Morgan's got his Princess-Leia headphones on. Nothing's getting through those things.

It's a text from Dave. _You look bored. Or perhaps dreaming up ways to be naughty at work?_

Emily snorts. _U wish,_ she sends back.

There's aborted chuckle from the front of the plane. _Maybe so. It was quite the interesting discussion we were having last night._

She shakes her head; leave it to Dave Rossi to text an entire novel when he bothers to text at all. Although, she can't really see Hotch stooping to l33t-speak, either. _No deets till u spill,_ she sends back.

 _I'm sure you've already heard the stories of my exploits._

 _Stories *about* stories, yeah. No specifics. Cough em up._

This time there's definitely a chuckle. _Let's just say that certain ADs are more adventurous than they come across. And that the bathrooms in the old bunker weren't as soundproof as you'd imagine, unfortunately._

Emily gasps. She's always caught a hint of _something_ between Dave and Strauss, a whisper of history that was made more of ground gears than well-oiled hinges. But that-- She shakes her head. _Yeah, ok. Name ur price 4 that 1._

 _I'm sure you'll think of something,_ he sends, and Emily can perfectly envision the smug smile on his face.

*****

'Waking up on the wrong side of bed' is nowhere near descriptive enough for the next Monday morning. She's already running a half an hour late--somehow she managed to knock her alarm clock off the bedside table in the middle of the night, shutting it off--when she discovers there are no clean underwear in the basket of to-be-folded laundry. She goes through it three times, and her drawer twice, just in case, but there's not a one. Emily's not sure how that's even possible.

 _Fuck it,_ she thinks, and pulls on her slip and skirt over bare skin. At least this way she can tell herself she wasn't lying the other night.

There's a certain exhilaration to going without. The airiness, maybe, or the way her slip slides over her hips with every step she takes. And that's not even the thrill that comes from knowing she could pull a Sharon Stone if she wanted to. (Well, okay, her skirt's not that short, and she wouldn't, ever. That's not the point.) It's the perfect recipe for erasing the bad start to her day.

"You're all smiles today," Dave says when they wind up on the elevator together at lunch. "Something good happen?"

Her lips twitch. She shouldn't, really, but, he's the one who started it. "Just following through on what we talked about on the plane. Figured it's best to start with the classics."

His eyebrows knit together for a second. Then his eyes widen and his gaze drops to her hips. She's feeling a little extra-naughty now, so she rubs her index finger over the crest of her hip where there should be a thin ridge of material. "It's really freeing," she says as the elevator doors open. She steps out, then turns to face him. "You should try it sometime."

*****

Dave is particularly grumpy on Wednesday. Emily warily watches him from the safety of her desk most of the morning, but though she can spot the defensive curl of his upper back, she can't read his mind. She finally gets up her nerve about one o'clock to corner him while he's in the middle of pouring another cup of coffee.

"Wanna talk about it?" she murmurs.

"No," he snaps immediately.

"Wow, okay." She holds up both hands. "It was just an offer."

Dave sighs loudly. He drops his head, arms braced straight against the edge of the counter, and then he finally takes a deep breath and straightens up. Strangely enough, that seems to have been enough to get him to drop those shoulders most of the way towards human level. "Sorry," he says. "I shouldn't take it out on you."

"I'll say." She leans in closer. "Are you sure there's nothing I can help with?"

Dave actually chuckles at that. "No, I don't imagine there is. Let's just say that apparently some things are very different for men than they are for women, and going commando is one of them."

Emily now knows exactly how Dave felt in that elevator on Monday. She gapes at him long enough for her mouth to feel a little dry. Then she starts laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dave grumbles, but he's smiling, too.

"It's just," she starts, and then she has to gasp for breath before finishing. "I guess that explains what crawled up your ass today."

He shakes his head. "You are a very naughty girl, Emily Prentiss."

"I do try." A final chuckle escapes her throat, and then she manages a good cleansing breath. "Oh, man. I can't believe you actually did it."

"Well, when a beautiful woman encourages you to take off your shorts, you do it." He raises an eyebrow. "I'd say I can't believe _you_ did it, but then, I'm starting to believe a whole lot of things about you."

"Like I'll do just about anything to win a dare?" Emily shakes her head. Maybe she shouldn't have said that, but it's true, and Dave is a very good profiler. "Just don't take advantage of it, and we'll be just fine."

"Would I do something like that?" He's not smiling any longer, making the gleam in his eyes seem all that more dangerous. "I mean, it would be completely inappropriate of me to dare you to do it again at your performance review with Hotch next week."

She keeps her mouth from dropping open again, but just barely. The thought...actually, the thought makes her glad she's wearing panties right now. "That is so wrong," she says, but she already knows she's going to do it. He doesn't, though, so she adds, "Besides. It's no fun if I'm the only one playing."

He pushes away from the counter and takes a step closer to her so that he can drop his voice to a near-whisper. "I thought we were taking turns," he says, and then walks away before she can respond.

"God, you suck, Rossi," she mutters to herself, because ideas are already tumbling around in her head, each one jumping up and down trying to get her attention first.

*****

She's nervous as hell and this is _so_ not the time to break into a sweat. The idea of sitting opposite Hotch with nothing beneath her skirt is half-terrifying, half-arousing, but that's not what has her heart hammering and dampness threatening the crack of her ass. She doesn't have to do this part. Dave doesn't have any idea of what she's planning, so it'd be no loss to back out now.

Except her brain has never worked like that. Emily takes a deep breath, checks herself over in the mirror one more time, and then, compulsively, checks the slight bulge under her suit jacket.

Show time.

Dave's door is open. He looks up when she walks in, but she doesn't even ask before she closes it behind her. When she turns back around, he's pushed back from his desk, one hand up to stroke his goatee as he eyes her.

"If I remember correctly, you have an appointment with Hotch in a few minutes," he says straight-faced.

"I do." Her stride is confident and easy as she circles around his desk, no matter how wobbly her ankles feel. There's a slight widening to his eyes as he looks up at her. Inside her head, she's totally throwing her hands up in victory. "I just wanted to make sure you knew I was satisfying the conditions of the dare."

"What--" he starts, but stops as soon as Emily reaches into her jacket. She pulls her fisted hand out in one quick, ripping-the-bandaid motion--and lets her panties drop into his lap.

"Prentiss," he says, and she'd be freaking out right now, except that's shock that's tightening his voice, not censure. He looks like he might be going to say something else, but his wandering hand makes contact with the satin first.

 _Yeah, buddy, they're warm,_ she crows silently. "The requirement was just for the performance review, not the rest of the day, right?" she asks with faux-innocence.

"Yeah," he croaks out.

"That's what I thought. Whelp, gotta go talk to Hotch." Emily flutters her eyelashes and gives him a too-cute head bob, then turns on her heel for the door. When she's got her hand on the knob, she looks over her shoulder just enough to get him in her sights. "Oh, and Rossi. End-of-quarter meeting with Strauss next week. Don't disappoint me."

Her head is spinning with adrenaline and success when she gets out the door, so much so that though she knows the meeting with Hotch goes fine, she hardly remembers it afterwards.

*****

Dealing with Strauss when she's trying her hand at Machiavellian politics is more annoying than an infected pimple. One on a really sensitive spot. The quarterly team review meetings, on the other hand, are just _really_ boring. Hotch, JJ, and Dave handle most of the questions that come up, with Morgan occasionally arguing a point or two. Emily occupies herself with taking the infrequent note in her pad and doodling in the margins the rest of the time.

She's working on a chicken right now, one that's losing half its feathers. She's not sure if it's meant to symbolize herself or Dave, but as irritated as she is, she's leaning in his direction. He's played dumb ever since that moment in his office last week. Not one word. Not even a teasing eyebrow or a chiding head-tilt. He's given her no indication that he intended to follow through with her dare, and considering how cranky he was the last time he tried free-balling it, she's pretty damn sure that today he's wearing whatever he usually wears. ( _Boxers,_ her mind supplies, remembering his reference to shorts. Emily kind of hates her brain sometimes.)

If he doesn't say anything after the meeting, she figures she's got two options. Either let it go, pretend it was just a fun game that reached its natural end--or confront him about it.

She colors in an egg under the chicken's feathered ass. Yeah, so much for the it-being-Dave theory.

The devil clears his throat. Emily looks up, and Dave coughs again. She frowns, wondering if maybe he's coming down with something. She could cut him a little slack if that's the case.

"Pardon me," he says. He pulls out a handkerchief, caught up in a tight grip, and dabs at his mouth with it. Her frown deepens, because while Dave might be kind of old-fashioned in a lot of ways, he's not really a hanky-in-the-pocket guy. He shifts to return it to his pants--and Emily gets a better look at the navy satin he's holding.

Heat. Her whole body is _flames_ , inside and out. She prays that nobody looks her way, especially Strauss or, God forbid, Hotch. Concentrating on forcing the heat down and slow, quiet breaths in and out through her nose gets her through the rest of the meeting. It doesn't last much longer, thank God, because every time she thinks she's gotten herself under control, she remembers exactly why she's freaking out in the first place.

Dave meets her gaze, eyebrows raised as he rises from his seat. Emily waits until everyone else is out, intending to corner that bastard in his office. But as soon as she steps out of the room, he's right beside her, herding her towards Penelope's office with nothing more than the gentle press of his fingers against the back of her arm. Penelope's not there; Emily vaguely wonders how Dave knew, but then he's ushering her inside and closing the door behind them.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Of course I am," she blusters. Beet is a totally normal shade for her skin tone. She shakes her head. "I just can't believe you did that."

"Because dropping your fresh panties into my lap is totally expected behavior," he says, dry as a good Merlot.

Emily feels a fresh blush rising at that, but there's a laugh trying to get out, too. "Yeah, well, I told you I don't like to lose."

Dave sighs. "I figured that if I got caught, it'd be all on me. Nobody would have any reason to suspect they were yours. But I'm sorry if it upset you."

She takes a deep breath. He's right, of course. Although anyone who looked at her would have known the truth, but she's not going to think about that, ever again. "You just surprised me," she says, then snorts. "A lot."

"Well, you're a tough act to follow." He reaches for her elbow, just the gentlest of touches again--and that's when Emily realizes she wants him to fuck her. Hard, and probably more than once. She's always had a bit of a crush on him, but when it got out of hand to this degree... "Emily? I think we should probably call a halt to this little game, as fun as it's been."

"No." Her voice is tinny in her ears. She's not really focusing on anything right now except the revelation unfolding in her head. "And let you win? I don't think so."

"Emily--"

That father-knows-best voice is exactly what she doesn't want to hear, and it snaps her back to herself. "I'm fine, _Dave_. Honestly. Enjoy the fact that you got one over on me today. It's not going to happen that often."

He stares at her for what feels like forever. She holds his gaze, doesn't back down, and she wonders how good he really is. How much he's figuring out right now. Part of her wants to curl up and die at the thought that he might know, but the rest of her is hot again, with arousal this time.

"Promise me you're not doing this just because of your pride," he finally says.

Emily smiles. "I can promise you it's not the only reason."

He narrows his eyes. "And you'll back down if it gets uncomfortable?"

Emily huffs. "I really, really appreciate the concern. I do. But I'm a big girl, Dave. I've been taking care of myself for a very long time."

"I know you have," he says softly. Then his expression changes, his pupils darkening and a smirk lifting his lips. "Then I guess it's your turn next."

"Bring it," she says.

He steps past her, reaching for the door knob. "I'll let you know when the time is right," he says, almost in her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she has to repress a shudder of want. Again she waits for him to leave, but this time it's so she can make sure she's not going to drag him into the restroom to test the acoustics. Her toy drawer is going to get one heck of a workout tonight.

Once she's calmed down, she pulls her shoulders back and opens the door.

"Oh, no," Penelope says, shaking her index finger. She takes a step forward, forcing Emily to retreat. "Now _we_ are going to talk."

*****

They get a case in Texas, and then one in Seattle. Two weeks pass in which the only things Dave does is occasionally look at her across the room and arch his eyebrow, and sometimes, if she's lucky, drag his fingers across her arm or shoulder when they pass by each other. If she were the type to pretend to herself, she'd say the thought of their game has faded from her conscious thought, or that she's gotten bored with it. The truth is, though, that she's had to start wearing her lined bras to prevent her hard nipples from showing all the time, and she gave up on her toy drawer a week ago because it was just making her more frustrated.

The flight back from Seattle is long enough that most everybody else is crashed out by the midway point. Emily can't sleep, though, torn between trying to process the haunting images left from the crime scenes and trying to forget them altogether. It's a huge relief when her Blackberry vibrates on her hip.

 _You've been looking rather frustrated lately._ From Dave, of course, and her heart skips once and then double-pumps to make up for it. _Why don't you go take care of some of that tension in the head?_

Emily swallows. Her thumb feels uncoordinated as she types in the few letters she needs. _You don't really mean...?_

 _I'm bringing it. Can you?_

She stands up slowly, being careful not to knock into the table or make any noise that might wake up Hotch or JJ. Dave is sprawled across the couch, wrists crossed over his blanket-covered chest and eyes closed. He's still got his phone clutched in his hand, though, and as she shuffles into the aisle, his eyelids slide upwards, just a crack. She waits for him to do something, but apparently it's all up to her now.

She turns her back on him, heading for the bathroom at the back of the plane. She jiggles the handle after she turns it, making sure it's locked. And then she does it again, before turning around to take stock of her options. The space in here isn't as tight as it would be on a commercial jet, but it's still not roomy. Definitely no space for acrobatic maneuvers.

"Stop stalling, Prentiss," she tells herself. As she unzips her pants, it occurs to her that she could just lie to him. Well, if lying was an option she'd ever consider, especially with Dave. She'd know, he'd know, it'd be a whole circle of disappointed knowing.

Her fingers have found their way into her panties without much suggestion on her part. Her clit is slick already, almost too slick. She doesn't really like doing this standing up, and it takes a moment to get her hand positioned right, get her legs spread just the right amount so that she has room to work. She rubs slowly, just feeling things out, trying to figure out where her body wants her the most tonight. Right at the base, apparently, where she's the hardest.

Emily brings her other hand up to loosely cover her mouth. Usually she doesn't have any problem keeping quiet, but she's paranoid. She's done some crazy stuff in her past, but those are the people she respects the most out there, her friends. If she fucks this up... _That's kind of the point,_ her damn brain supplies, and then it's a laugh she's muffling.

Dave's out there. That's really the only thought that matters now. Dave's out there, imagining her in here, and when she walks back out he's going to know exactly what she's done. Because he told her to.

It's easy after that. She rubs hard and fast, skipping the build-up and just going for it. She knocks her elbow into the plastic door as she comes, startling herself, but the spike of adrenaline just prolongs her orgasm, almost drawing it out into another little wave.

Emily doesn't take any time for after glow. She washes her hands, zips up, and inspects herself in the crappy mirror. She looks a little flushed, but her hair's in place and her clothes don't look any worse than they already did when she came in here.

Dave openly watches her walk back to her seat. She arches an eyebrow at him. A silent chuckle makes its way up his chest, through his shoulders, and then he shakes his head at her, smiling.

Emily raises her hand to her lips, biting her finger coyly. Dave's smile drops away, his lips parting like he's having trouble catching his breath. If there's a little wiggle in her hips before she drops back down into her seat, it's only her inner victory dance escaping her control.

*****

She tucks a handwritten, unsigned note on top of the leaves of tissue paper. _Since your first experiment was so unpleasant, I thought maybe you'd prefer going the other direction._ She makes sure to get in extra early so she can make the hand-off in Penelope's office.

"They came?" Penelope makes tiny, gleeful, game-show claps over her bosom before accepting the small package. "This is going to be awesome, I can already tell. What color did you go with?"

"I stuck with basic black." Emily bites her lip. "You don't think it's pushing him too far?"

Penelope gives her a look over the rim of her glasses. "And what exactly was his last move, hmm?"

Her blush says it all.

"Uh-huh, thought so." There is no one who can smile dirtier than Penelope Garcia. "Trust me. He's never going to expect this, and that in itself will get him to do it."

Emily snorts. "You sound like a profiler."

Penelope shakes her head. "Oh, honey, no. I just know sexy."

"That you do." Emily takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm going to go to work now."

Penelope taps her on the shoulder with the package. "Don't worry. I will be as fleet of foot as Hermes on a mission from Aphrodite herself."

"And I think I'm getting heartburn," Emily mutters. Penelope just laughs. Some support system she is.

She concentrates so hard the rest of the day on not watching for Penelope that by the time she's wrapped up work for the day, she's completely missed all sign of the drop. Emily considers checking in with her, but she doesn't want Penelope to get the impression she doesn't trust her. And she's not completely sure she wants to hear how Dave reacted when she handed over the package.

Emily doesn't expect him to do it the next day, but she hopes. When he nods at her on his way to the kitchen area, she doesn't hold herself back. He's barely got his hand on the carafe by the time she gets over there.

"I have to say," he starts in without preamble, "that I can see how they help with chafing issues. Though there's a little bit of a problem now and then with thigh hair getting yanked."

"You could always shave," she says, the words tumbling out. She's glad for her runaway tongue when Dave chuckles.

"I admire your imagination," he says. "Although this does seem a little tame in comparison to, well."

She raises her eyebrow. "Oh, wearing them isn't the dare. You have to _prove_ to me you're wearing them."

She can hear his swallow. "Work late tonight," he says. "Come to my office once Hotch is gone."

There used to be a time when trying to outlast Hotch would have her there until midnight, but Jack is his number one priority now. Emily nods, her thrill a little sedated after that reminder, and then heads back to her desk.

"What was that all about?" Derek asks as soon as she gets settled into her seat.

"What was what about?"

"Don't play me," he says. "That little mini-conference with Rossi."

"Oh," she says, like it's barely still in her memory banks. "He just had a little issue with his pants. Wanted to know if I had any ideas about what to do."

Derek snorts. "Yeah, okay. I think that's more than I need to know."

She rolls her eyes and then goes back to her work. She can't help but notice, though, that Dave is just now making his way back to his office.

*****

It's a good thing she planned on staying late, because her concentration has been shot all day and it's taken her twice as long as usual to get anything done. By the time Hotch leaves, she's nothing but nervous energy and want.

There are two ways Dave could fulfill the terms she set out. The easiest would be to simply tug up the cuff of his pants. But she figured he was all in when he asked her to stay late, and it's just confirmation when he shuts the door behind her and puts his back to it, so that he's out of sight of the open blinds.

"Remember, you asked," he says, and then starts unbuckling his belt. He moves on to the button and zipper, and Emily realizes she's holding her breath.

He lets his pants drop to the floor.

She'd wanted to order garters, but the idea of them with his boxers had just made her laugh. She shouldn't have worried, though, because he's wearing tight black briefs today, barely visible under the tails of his shirt. She wonders if he already had them, or if he went out and bought a pair to match the thigh-high stockings. They're incredibly sheer, except for the wide, elasticized cuff of lace that holds them up. Dark swirls of hair are visible underneath, but what really gets her is the way they show off his thigh muscles.

"I ordered the right size, then," she says finally.

"I assume so. I don't really have a lot of experience in the way these things fit." He pulls one foot free of his pants, then cocks his hip so that his knee is bent, only the tips of his toes on the floor in the perfect imitation of a woman's come-hither stance. It makes her brain loop a little crazily, admiring how unexpectedly elegant he is, how _feminine_ , while at the same time being totally masculine, too. "What do you think?"

"You definitely make them work," she says. One of them should laugh now. Really. Because that's the only acceptable reason she should be staring at his legs as hard as she is.

"Thanks." His voice is hoarse. "They're, uh, not nearly as bad as I thought they'd be."

From Dave, that's pretty much a declaration of fervent appreciation. She nods. "Yeah, if you don't have to wear them all the time, there's something really nice about the feel of the nylon on your skin." She licks her lips. "Uh. Especially right after shaving."

"I imagine." He clears his throat. "Well. That good enough?"

"Oh! Yes, yes of course." Emily takes a step back. Dave bends over to reach for his pants, and there's an instant when she gets a good look at his crotch.

It's hard to tell with the black cloth and the shadows, but she's pretty damn sure he's hard.

"So, I'll be waiting for your move," she says, almost before he's done tucking his shirt back in, and then kind of barrels her way past him to open the door.

She can't stop the grin that spreads across her face on her way back to her desk.

*****

Penelope brings her a single case file about ten a.m. the next day. Emily doesn't think anything of it until she opens the folder and finds a sheet of paper, small, from one of those pocket notebooks, folded in half. She glances around, making sure Derek and Reid are buried in their work, and then opens it.

 _2nd floor family restroom. 4:00._

That's it.

Emily slides the note off of the folder, across the edge of the desk before tucking it into her pocket. The family restroom on the second floor is supposed to be for visitors, but it's almost never used. The whole floor is pretty empty, in fact, full of rarely-reserved conference rooms instead of offices.

There's really only one reason he would ask her to meet him in that particular bathroom.

Waiting to see Dave in the stockings was a piece of cake compared to this. Emily finds herself fidgeting all day, nervously tapping her pen against her papers, knocking her knee against her desk more than once from crossing and recrossing her legs, even clicking her tongue a time or two. Derek throws her a couple of concerned looks that she almost answers with _cramps_ , but knowing her luck, Reid will overhear and jump in with a question about why she's off her cycle.

God damn, working with profilers is a pain in the ass sometimes.

About three o'clock, she starts having second thoughts. And thirds, and fourths. The very idea of doing what she's thinking about doing is crazy. She could get into serious trouble if they're caught, not to mention the embarrassment factor. It probably says too much about the sad state of her psyche that what she's really worried about, though, is how Dave will react. If this is all a game to him, with this as the Super Bowl moment...

Well, if it is, she can deal with it. She's dealt with a hell of a lot worse in her dating life.

Emily doesn't see him leave his office, mostly because she's had her head down for the last twenty minutes in the hour, forcing herself to at least look like she's concentrating. At five 'til, she gets up, avoiding Derek's eyes, and heads for the elevator. She lucks out and gets one to herself. The family restroom isn't far from the elevators, and she's there before she can question herself one more time.

She rests her fist on the door for a moment before getting up the nerve to actually knock.

"Yes?" That's Dave's voice, without a doubt.

"Do I need a password?" She hears the bolt clunk back into its setting, and then the door opens just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Emily wipes her sweaty palms on her pants as he turns the lock again.

"Got your message." She tries on a smile. "Now what?"

Dave shrugs. He's leaning against the sink, hands clasped in front of him. "The dare was to meet me here. Anything else, that's up to you."

Emily swallows. "You mean another dare?"

"If that's what you want," he says, calmly, infuriatingly. He's not going to let her get away with hiding from this, damn him. It's his best and worst quality, the way he will barrel on through someone's defenses if that's what he thinks needs to be done. "If that's what you need."

"What I need," she grinds out, "is for you to get over here and kiss me right now."

He pushes away from the sink and closes the distance between them in two quick steps. Her pulse is thundering in her ears as he sets the tips of his fingers just behind her jaw, under her ears. He's so warm. "Whatever you want," he promises, and then rubs his bearded cheek against hers before finally, finally kissing her.

They wind up with their cheeks pressed together, breath loud between them as they catch their breath. Her heart is doing that shocky post-battle dance, that adrenaline skitter of not being sure whether it's okay to relax. "God, tell me I'm not alone here." She's clinging to him a little too hard, but his arms are holding her in tight, too. "Tell me I'm not making a complete fool out of myself."

Rossi huffs a breath against her neck. "Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how close you've had me to coming in my pants? How many times?"

She laughs a little. It's easier now to ease her grip on his shoulder blades, to be able to pull back enough that she can see his face. He's smiling ruefully at her. He kisses her again, closed-mouthed but lingering, and then drops his hands.

"We should go. Continue this later, if you'd like."

"Mm, I'm with you on the second, not so much the first."

Dave's eyebrows climb. "You don't have to prove anything. You know that, right?"

"Who said anything about proving anything?" Her voice has gone deep and throaty, and she likes the way it makes her sound a little bit devious. A little bit evil, maybe. She hooks her fingers into the waist of his pants, right above the belt buckle, and watches him swallow. "You've had me on edge for weeks, and you're going to do something about it before we open that door."

Dave grins. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me," she says, unbuckling his belt with an agility she didn't know she had. She thinks about dropping to her knees, but even though the restroom looks spotless, ew, no. Instead she reaches for the hook and zipper on her own pants. It would have been a lot more convenient if this was one of her skirt days, but hell with convenience. She makes a quick detour into her pocket and then pushes her pants down, smiling at the way Dave fixates on her bared legs.

She waves the condom in front of his face. "You wanna do something with this?"

"In a minute," he says, taking it out of her hand. Then he pulls her in for another round of hot, deep kisses. He mouths her ear, her neck, her throat. She gets a hand down his boxers. He's so hard, leaking, and their foreplay has gone on for months too long.

"Come on," she says, stepping back, somehow managing to get her feet out of her pants without falling on her ass as she does so. "I wasn't planning on staying in here all night."

She pushes her panties down and kicks them off, into the fabric puddle between them. She doesn't wait for him to get over staring at her. Just steps over to the sink, grips the edge, and bends over.

"Christ, Emily."

It's such an exposed position. Her face heats but so does everything else; her thighs feel wet and stick already, and he's still a foot away. She meets his gaze in the mirror, and then he steps forward at last. His hand is so light as he touches her hip, skin barely grazing skin as he runs it up under her shirt, stroking her side. He reaches around, down the line of her ilium, skimming through her pubic hair until he finds her clit.

"Dave," she gasps. Just to say it. She's so wet. His finger slides around a bit, slipping past where she really needs him and she can't help the frustrated grunt she makes deep in her throat. He's good, though, moving back until her shoulders relax from the pure relief that comes from him finding the right spot. The right rhythm, too, fast and hard and taking her over the edge almost right away.

"Better?"

"Getting there." She licks her dry lips while he pulls his hand back and dips out of view.

"Almost there," he says. She doesn't hear the rip of him opening the package, but she does hear the balloon-snap of him settling the condom into place. Then he puts his left hand on her hip and tugs her backwards a little bit. "Just a little--"

And then he's pushing in. Emily sobs out a cry, everything inside her wired too tight to keep it in. It's a damn good thing they're on the empty floor; no wonder Dave has the reputation he does.

"Hang on tight," he says, and then he starts thrusting hard and fast. Pounding her. Her fingers squeak against the ceramic bowl of the sink and her hipbones keep getting closer to the hard front. The mirror doesn't hide the truth of how out of control they are: her pupils are black, her face is flushed and blotchy, her hair is a wild mess getting wilder with every stroke. Dave's watching her face, eyes half-lidded and jaw set tight with concentration. There's sweat beading up over his sideburns, starting to run down his face.

It's so fucking good she wants to cry. Something like the pressure of tears is caught in her throat, at the back of her eyeballs, a feeling that her body is trying to explode through her skin. Dave's cock is hitting her in all the right spots, but somehow it's not enough. She's too keyed up, maybe, too tense to let go at last. She drops her head, a whimper of frustration escaping.

Dave notices. "Emily?" he asks, hips slowing.

"No, don't stop!" She shoves herself back. Dave lets out a whimper of his own. "I just-- I can't--"

"You can," he says--and then he raises his hand from her hip and finds her breast. Finds her hard nipple through the layers of shirt and bra, and squeezes _hard_.

"Oh, fuu--" That's exactly what she needed. She comes in rolling waves, clenching around Dave's cock.

"Emily, Em, Em," he chants, and then he pushes in hard, both hands on her hips and gripping tight. She can feel the pulse of his orgasm through the condom. She grinds back into him, stretching out that moment where he fills her perfectly, seated as deep as he can get. They stay like that for the length of a held breath.

"Oh, God," Dave says. He strokes a gentle hand down her back, then pulls out. Emily's legs are wobbly as she pushes away from the sink, and she's pretty sure she's going to have bruises all over her hips tomorrow. Dave smiles at her when she turns to face him. "I am too old for this," he says, swiping at the sweat at his temples.

Emily snorts. "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess we'd better forget about doing it again, since you're so old and all."

Dave shakes his head, still smiling. "How did you get to be so evil?"

"Practice."

"I'll bet," he says. He kisses her again, just a quick buss of reassurance, and then they both busy themselves with cleanup. Emily's got her pants back on and is trying to settle her blouse when she happens to glance at the mirror.

She is so fucked.

Literally.

"Oh, man. I am not walking back into a room full of profilers like this." Her lipstick's understandably gone, but how her eyeliner got smudged into a Cleopatra look-alike, she doesn't get at all. There's a wet patch on the underside of her left boob, and her hair looks like something straight out of an 80s' music vid. She meets Dave's gaze in the mirror. "Not with you looking like that. They won't even have to guess."

Dave looks down at himself. He's mostly gotten his face under control, but there's nothing to be done about the dark stains under his pits. And Emily has a feeling that the back of his shirt has tell-tale wrinkles from where she'd grabbed him earlier.

"So don't," he says. "We don't have anything urgent. Call it an early day and just head to the garage."

Emily bites her lip. That'd be the obvious solution, but... "I don't have my stuff. I need my keys, at the very least."

"I'll take care of it." He gives her another one of those face-cradling kisses, then rubs his thumbs under her cheekbones. Emily's heart does that stupid double-thump again. "Give me another, oh, five or so, then head down to the garage."

"It'll be just as obvious if you grab my stuff--"

"Give me a little credit," he says. "I'll take care of it, don't worry."

"Okay," she says softly. And then, because this is always the hard part, "So, um. Do you..."

"Can I come over? Maybe in a couple hours?"

 _My hero,_ she thinks, and then immediately rolls her eyes at herself. "That'd be great. Whenever is good." _You don't have to wait,_ she wants to add, but that's maybe a little too needy.

"Okay." He kisses her again, deep and slow like something out of the end of an old movie, then slips out of the bathroom.

Emily looks down at her watch and settles in to wait.

*****

Emily doesn't take a deep breath until the heavy stairway door closes. There's no one in the garage that she can see, thank goodness. Well, except for the part where she still doesn't have her keys, and she's not quite sure what she's supposed to do about that.

The elevator dings. Emily turns to the side, acting like she's searching for something in her non-existent purse.

"Hey, you."

"Garcia?" Emily turns around so fast her heel skids on the concrete. Penelope's right behind her--holding out her purse and briefcase. "Oh, man. You really are a goddess."

"You ever doubted?"

"Not really, no." Emily settles her purse on her shoulder and then takes her briefcase. Penelope doesn't move, though, just stands there with a barely-contained smirk. "Okay, what?"

"Rossi said you weren't feeling well." Penelope bobs her eyebrows, and Emily groans.

"Great. Does the whole team know?"

Penelope rolls her eyes. "No, they do not, because on top of being a goddess, I am also a genius. Now, are you going to spill the deets, or are you going to keep me guessing forever?"

The elevator pings again. Emily has to quell an urge to run. "I promise, I'll tell you later, but right now I just want to get out of here."

Penelope's eyes soften. "K," she says, giving Emily's wrist a quick squeeze. "No problem."

"Thanks." She wants to say more, but there are footsteps approaching, heavy like a guy's. She turns her hand over, returning Penelope's squeeze. "Catch you later, okay?"

"Call me." Penelope turns--and almost smacks into Dave.

"Easy there, kitten," he says, catching her by the shoulders. "Don't want you taking a tumble."

"I'm good," she says, " _tiger_." She throws a wink over her shoulder at Emily, then heads back to the elevator.

Dave looks a little shell-shocked. "Did she just call me tiger?"

"Well, you did call her kitten." That doesn't seem to help his bewilderment any, so Emily holds up her empty hand. "Hey, I didn't say anything."

Dave snorts. "No, I didn't figure you did." He steps closer to her and lowers his voice. "You ready to head out?"

"Definitely." She cocks her head to the side. "But what happened to 'a couple hours'?"

Dave shrugs. "It sounded about an hour and fifty-nine minutes too long."

 

END


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